Greg's Day Out
by Analisa The Great
Summary: Greg and Grissom's niece spend the day on the town. Greg gives into temptation. Caution: they get down, people.
1. Chapter 1

Greg marveled at the rain as he strode down the last block before he reached the building whose address was written on the slip of paper in his jacket pocket. He couldn't remember the last steady rain he'd seen in Vegas. He pulled up his collar and wiped the water from his eyes.

He stopped in front of the building and took the paper from his pocket once again. He checked the number on the paper against he number on the glass door of the building and, once satisfied that the two matched, started up the steps and pressed the buzzer for the apartment.

"Yo," came a female voice from the speaker.

"Uh, hi," Greg began. "This is Greg Sanders. I'm looking for Anne."

There was a short silence on the other end of the intercom.

"Third floor. Come on up," said another, lightly accented, female voice.

There was another buzz, this one longer than the first, that indicated that the door was now unlocked. Greg took a deep breath and opened the door. He looked about for an elevator and sighed at the out of order sign. He found the door marked stairs and, still dripping wet, trudged up to the third floor.

Once he reached the top, Greg walked to halfway down the hall and knocked at the door scribbled on the paper.

The door opened to reveal a plump young woman dressed in a pair of dirty washed jeans and a red sweater with three quarter sleeves. Her dark, shoulder length hair was swept away from her face and held in place on one side with a bobby pin, a flower matching her sweater in the pin. What kept Greg transfixed in the doorway were her eyes: large, round eyes the color of milk chocolate.

"Greg?" she asked in soft voice with a pleasant Spanish accent.

"Uh . . . yeah," he stuttered. For having never been attracted to big women, Greg found he was deeply effected by how simply pretty this woman was.

"I'm Anne," the young woman replied.

A few days earlier, Grissom had inquired about Greg's plans for the weekend. Greg answered that he had planned on catching up on some much needed sleep. Grissom sighed heavily and offered up that his niece would be in town to visit some friends, Greg's interest was piqued.

"How old is you niece?" Greg asked cautiously.

"Twenty-two," Grissom replied. "She's an advertising major at the Seattle Art Institute and she's coming down to visit some friends from high school. I'm making her explore the job market here."

"Making her?" Greg wondered aloud.

"Yes," Grissom answered simply. "She's going to school and doing exceedingly well, but she has very little direction or idea of what to do after she graduates."

"So . . ."

"So, I was wondering if you could keep an eye on her. Take her around to some of the agencies here in the city and see if she shows an interest in one."

"But not . . . like. . . take her out," Greg said.

"No, not take her out," Grissom replied.

Greg agreed and took the piece of paper Grissom handed him.

"She's," Grissom paused, "Not what you'd expect."

Grissom had been right.

"Come in," she offered, opening the door wider.

"Nice place," he said dumbly, looking around at his surroundings. The room was overrun by furniture: a sofa, a loveseat, two rocker/recliners, and an entertainment center containing a television and DVD player, a stereo with surround sound. He could see that the kitchen was off to the left of the living room and a short hall beyond the living room furniture that he assumed led to a bedroom and a bathroom.

"Thanks," she smiled. "I'll let Dee know later. This is her place."

"Oh," he said, at a loss. Her smile nearly melted him.

"You've met," she said. "On the porch."

"Right," he laughed nervously.

"You want a towel or something?" she asked.

"Huh?"

She gave a small laugh. "You're soaked," she pointed out.

"Yeah. I, uh, wasn't expecting the rain," he explained.

"Yeah," she laughed. "I brought it with. Dee said she needed the humidity." She handed him a paper towel from the kitchen counter. "So, you'll be babysitting me today?" she asked as she watched him dry his face.

"Well," he began, "You're uncle. . . Grissom. . . Gil," he sputtered. She wouldn't stop smiling at him. He could drown in her eyes. "He asked me to show you around some." He began looking around for a trash can.

"So, he asked you to date me," she said, taking the now soaked paper towel into the kitchen.

"No," Greg said firmly. He was about to add that he was in fact warned against it, but decided not to.

"What are we doing then?" she asked, still smiling.

Greg sighed inwardly. He couldn't lie to those eyes.

"I'm supposed to help you find direction," he admitted.

"He's making you take me to look for a job isn't he," she said flatly, but the smile never left her face.

"Yeah," Greg answered.

"You must be from the lab," she said.

"Yeah," seemed to be all he was capable of saying.

"Huh," she said, flicking her tongue across the left corner of her mouth. "Well, I guess we'd better get going then." She picked a lightweight waterproof jacket from the back of a chair and slipped it on as she opened the front door. "The sooner we get it over with, the sooner we can have some fun."

"Uh. . . I guess," Greg said as he followed her out into the hall.

"So, where are we going?" she asked as she opened the door into the rain.

"According to our itinerary," he said, producing a small sheet of notepaper from his jacket pocket, "we're supposed to go around to some ad agencies so you can get a feel for the industry."

"No," she said, snatching the paper from him and crumbling it into her pocket. "We won't be doing that."

Greg stopped walking.

"What are we going to do then?"

"Have you eaten?" she asked.

"No," he answered and followed as she began walking down the street, oblivious to the cool rain falling to the sidewalk. She walked straight through puddles seemingly without a care.

"Then let's do that first and go from there," she smiled. "What sounds good?"

"I dunno," he said hesitantly. "We should probably. . ."

"Walk aimlessly around inside an ad agency for an hour hoping that we're not kicked out for trespassing?" she finished for him.

"Well. . ."

"C'mon. Don't be a wuss. Live on the edge and do something that my interfering, know-it-all uncle didn't tell you to do."

She smiled and Greg could feel his palms get sweaty. She had a way of looking at him . . . No, he chided himself, that's probably just what she looks like. Just the same, he caved.

"What do you feel like?" he asked, rewording her earlier question.

"Asian," she answered.

"Japanese?" he asked

"Sure."

"Tropicana. They have this place called Mizuno's Teppen Dining. It's really great."

"Great," she said, flashing him that heart melting smile once more.

"We'll get a cab," he said. "It's kinda far."

She shrugged and rolled her eyes slightly. "If you want."

"It's about three miles," he turned east and pointed, "that-a-way."

"Then I guess we should take a cab," she agreed and smiled, waiting for him to hail a cab.

When a taxi finally pulled to the curb to let them in, Greg, on a whim, opened Anne's door for her. There was something about the way she was looking at him that made him feel . . . like being a gentleman, he supposed. Of course, it may have had something to do with a previous threat from Grissom.

"On your best behavior," he'd warned before Greg left the lab that morning. "If you don't treat her like a lady, Greg, you'll be stuck behind a microscope for the rest of your career."

Greg knew that Grissom meant business because he'd never heard such a threatening tone from the man before. And if Greg hadn't seen the look on his face (such a defensive and distrusting look), he wouldn't have believed him.

"Where to?" asked the driver.

Greg told him where they were going and began telling him the fastest way to get there but decided not to. He suddenly wanted to spend as much time alone with Anne as he could. She was smiling at him again.

"So, what do you do in the lab?" she asked.

"Mostly DNA analysis," he answered. "But what I'd really like to do is direct," he quipped. Much to his satisfaction, she got his joke and laughed.

"How did you stand school?"

"What do you mean?"

"How many honors classes did you have to take in high school? And what about advanced placement? I couldn't have handled that. That's why I'm a business nerd."

It was Greg's turn to laugh. He'd never heard anyone outside of his field or computer engineering refer to him or herself as a nerd.

"I dunno," he said. "I just . . . It fascinates me. Following the evidence and junk," he said.

"And junk?" she asked with another small laugh.

"I use the word junk like a term of endearment when it comes to my work. I love it and I hate it all at once."

She laughed again and then simply smiled at him.


	2. Chapter 2

"This place is great," Anne said with a smile as she and Greg were lead to a large table with place settings for eight. The seats were on one side and both ends of the table, the other side was dedicated to a large, grilling surface.

Greg smiled at the wonder he detected in her voice. He wondered if she'd known what "Teppan Dining" was before she'd agreed upon it.

"I like it okay," he replied. On impulse, Greg pulled out her chair before she could do it herself and she flashed him that warm smile yet again. He began unconsciously making a list of things in his head that he would do to try to bring that smile out more. Taking his own seat, they were handed menus to peruse. He kept glancing at her from the corner of his eye since they were seated next to each other rather than across from.

She was sitting ramrod straight, something the women he normally dated would never do. Greg was into slouchers with tiny waists and short skirts.

But when he looked at her again and took notice of how her breasts rose and fell with each breath, he had to shake his head to clear it and forced himself to remember Grissom's warning. _Best behavior_, he told himself.

"If you stare at me any harder, I may start to think you're checking me out, Greg," she said softly, a small laugh in her voice.

"Sorry," he muttered, surprised that she'd noticed at all. He hoped she wouldn't be offended.

"Don't be sorry," she said quickly. "It's nice to be checked out every once in a while. Especially since you're so cute," she added.

Greg was caught a bit off guard at that: He'd never been told right out that he was cute before. Especially not after only knowing a woman for about half an hour.

But _especially_ not when she was any relation to Grissom.

"What are you getting?" she asked without looking up from her menu.

Greg turned to look at her and thought he detected a light blush creeping into her cheeks.

"I dunno yet," he replied, looking from her to the menu and back again. "You?"

"Not a clue," she laughed.

Greg was finding both her laugh and smile contagious, and so he laughed a bit himself.

"Oh," she said suddenly and set her menu down. She flashed him that heart-melting smile and he smiled in return. "Yakisoba," she said in explanation. "I think," she checked the menu again, "Yeah, beef yakisoba," she finished.

"Uh. . . What's yakisoba?"

"Noodles," she answered simply. "Stir-fried with beef."

"Oh. Sounds good," he said.

"It is."

"Huh." He looked back down at the menu. He smiled and decided to trust her judgment.

"Yakisoba it is then," he said and put his menu down.

"Then it's settled," she said.

"You know," Greg said after a moment of silence, "you are not at all what I'd expected Grissom's family to be like. I mean, I didn't think he. . . had family." Greg could've kicked himself. He couldn't help but feel awkward around this woman and he couldn't figure out why. As a rule, he'd never been attracted to . . . plump women before, and yet here he was acting as though this was his very first date all over again.

_But it's not a date_, he chided himself.

"Yeah, Uncle Grissom's a pretty private guy," she agreed. Greg laughed that she called him by his last name instead of saying "Uncle Gil" as he'd have guessed. It seemed as though, even amongst family, Grissom commanded a certain amount of respect, enough that even family were hesitant to call him Gil.

"Sometimes, we think he forgets about us. Then we have to remember that he just doesn't like to let people get too close."

"Not even family huh?"

"No, not really," she replied, not saying a thing about Greg prying into her uncle's personal life. "He only takes an interest when one of us does something questionable."

"What's questionable for Grissom?"

"Talk of dropping out of school," she said.

"Really? I thought you were a nerd," he joked, finally beginning to relax. _ Keep her talking, that's the key_. When he was absorbed in what she was saying, he was less likely to admire her physically, thus keeping himself out of trouble.

"Yeah, I am. But it's hard sometimes. I mean, I don't really have the patience for Math or Science so things like Statistics and Accounting merit a bit of talk," she explained. "I mean, having to make a budget and a business model are things I can handle. Watching the fluctuations of a supply and demand graph, I can handle. But, try to talk to me about percentiles and theorems and I'm out the door, my friend."

Greg had to laugh at that. She understood Economics well enough, but percentiles were out of her league.

"So I threatened to drop out on the grounds that it was too hard and, after one phone call, my mother has Uncle Grissom fly me down here to find direction as you say."

They both laughed softly as the chef appeared at the table to fill their orders. Greg watched the delight on Anne's face as their food was prepared before their very eyes. If she'd hadn't known what yakisoba was, he would have thought she had clearly never experienced teppan dining.

"This is fun, huh," she said as their meals were placed before them. Greg had to laugh aloud at that. He was enjoying her child-like excitement at something so simple as watching a meal being prepared.

"Yeah," he said softly. "Yeah it is."


	3. Chapter 3

"Ready to get a feel for the world of commercial advertising?" Greg asked as they stepped out of the restaurant and onto the crowded strip. He could've kicked himself for asking, but it was what they were supposed to be doing. On top of that, he wanted to get back out of the relentless downpour. It hadn't slowed up since they'd entered the restaurant.

"Nope," Anne smiled innocently and pushed a stray strand of hair from her eyes.

"What then?" he asked, noticing exactly how that hair now lay against the mass of thick, dark hair about her shoulders.

"Where do you get your records?" she asked.

Greg opened his mouth to ask how she knew he even listened to records.

"You have duct tape on your shoe," she answered his unasked question. "You're pupil's aren't dilated so you're not on any drugs I know of. You don't strike me as the type to waste his money on porno. And the only other thing I can think of to keep you from buying new shoes is music."

Greg was slightly stunned at her proclamation. She was definitely Grissom's niece through and through.

She stuck a foot out and stepped down close to Greg's, showing him her own red Chuck Taylors. He laughed when he noticed for the first time that she, too, fixed her shoes with duct tape.

"If you can't duct it, as they say," she giggled.

Greg laughed with her and was tempted to put his arm around her and hug her close for a moment. He resigned himself to merely basking in her smile.

"So spill, Lab Boy," she urged. "Record shop."

"Big B's, of course," he said as though she should've known.

"How big?" she asked.

"Big enough. Best for vinyl and cds anyway."

"Good," she said. "Lead the way."

Greg was hesitant for a moment.

"C'mon," she urged. "Remember, I won't tell if you don't tell."

"All right," he caved. "I'll take you but you have to be good."

She put on an expression of mock indignation.

"Haven't I been good so far, Greg?" she asked with a façade of hurt in her voice.

"Yes, but, as a fellow duct taper, you've got to understand that I know what it's like to walk into this place and lose a little control."

She smiled at that.

"Touché, my friend," she said. "All right, I promise I'll be good if you take me to the record store."

"Okay then," he said and hailed another cab, glad to be getting out of the rain again.

"Marry me," Anne said in a soft voice as they stepped inside of Big B's on Maryland Parkway.

"I hardly know you," Greg replied, feeling a bit more himself. "Besides, how do I know you're not here to pick up some Sugar Ray or Pink?"

"I'll be offended by that later," she said and made her way unabashedly towards the shelves upon shelves stacked with vinyl.

After about half an hour of sifting through album after album, (something Greg would never tire of whether he was with a pretty girl or not) she spoke.

"Yes!" she shouted loud enough to be heard by half of Las Vegas.

"You promised to be good," Greg whined jokingly.

"I am," she protested, "I just scored Unknown Pleasures!"

"What?" he asked, skeptically.

"Joy Division, Greg, Joy Division."

Greg was impressed that she was all for the Division.

"There's some New Order over here," he said, testing the waters.

She merely scoffed. "New Order are crap," she said flatly. "We all know Ian Curtis was it."

Greg heart leapt into his throat. Any woman that would listen to Joy Division and not the surviving members in New Order was definitely for him.

"What else are you looking for?" he asked, standing behind her. He could smell the light perfume of her shampoo from where he was.

"Happy Mondays," she answered.

"How does it feel?" he asked hopefully.

"Well, duh Greg," she laughed good naturedly, as though there should've been no question on his part.

"Woman after my own heart," he muttered and reached for an album that caught his eye. He brought it down to see who it was and grimaced.

"Ugh, Duran Duran."

"Which album?" she asked, immediately interested.

"Duran Duran," he replied, after looking over the cover art for the album title.

"Give it here," she ordered and he handed her the record.

"Please don't tell me you listen to them," Greg pleaded.

"Greg, Duran Duran are more hardcore than anything you've probably go in your

cd player right now. They sing about true feelings, the way things are and not the way they're romanticized by media."

"Are we talking about the Hungry Like the Wolf Duran Duran?" he asked, suddenly not so sure he trusted her taste in music anymore.

"Greg, have you ever listened to Careless Memories?"

"I steer clear of them altogether, thanks."

"Careless Memories is the best break up song to date." She looked around the room, seemingly in a panic until she found what she was looking for. A listening booth.

"Come on," she said and took his hand in hers, the record in the other. "I'm gonna make a Duranie out of you."

He was about to make a crack about how much the word Duranie sounded like the word Trannie, but kept his mouth shut. Her hand was small and warm in his slightly clammy palm and she was holding his fairly tightly as she half pulled him to the sound proof booth across the room.

He watched with some fascination as she expertly removed the record from the sheath and carefully counted the grooves before setting it onto the turn table. The needle came down and Greg was drowned by the rhythmic bass skills of a much younger John Taylor. He listened to the song pick up and before Simon LeBon could utter a single syllable, Greg watched with hungry eyes as Anne began to unconsciously sway her hips to the music.

He was transfixed, only half listening to the song while his other half was completely absorbed in the way she was moving in the small booth. They were already close enough that he could feel the warmth radiating from her body, but once she started moving, her hips brushed against his. As the song went on, she began to move in earnest, her movement now becoming more insistent, as though she felt every word that was being said and every note that was being played.

In the end, Greg felt that, while the music hadn't proven to interest him much, he would become a hardcore Duranie if only to be near Anne whenever they inspired her to dance like this.


	4. Chapter 4

"We should probably get to this list or something," Greg said resignedly, almost certain that she would still refuse to adhere to the schedule Grissom had given him.

"Probably," she replied softly.

They were once again outside, standing in the rain. Anne was clutching her new, weatherproof record bag (complete with its very own record collection stowed inside) to her as though it were a life preserver in an ensuing flood; a flood Greg was sure they'd have if the rain kept on.

"What else is there to do in this town?" she asked. Greg smiled at her use of the word town.

"Not much if you don't gamble."

"Or if you don't work in the crime lab, huh? Come on, there must be something else that you do for fun."

"Well, we could hit the club scene if you want." At the mischievous light in her eyes, Greg was almost certain he'd suggested wrong. On top of that, going to a club with a pretty girl was something he would call a date; something Grissom had expressly forbidden him to do.

"Or we could . . ." he trailed off, thinking desperately for something else to do.

"What kind of club?" she asked immediately.

"The kind that we're not going to," he mumbled and turned away from her to hail another cab.

"Oh, no you don't," she said and reached for his hand. She held it firmly in her own until he turned back to face her. "C'mon," she insisted.

"We really should . . ."

"What is it about my uncle that has you wound up so tight?" she asked, a small amount of frustration evident in her voice.

"He owns me," Greg blurted. "I'm not kidding," he sounded hurt as she produced a small giggle. "My career half depends on how badly I screw up and what Grissom has to say about it."

"What's the other half of this dependency?"

"That's both halves," he said. "I screw up and see what Grissom has to say about it."

"You give him too much control. It's not like he's psychic, Greg."

"You don't know!" Greg half shouted.

As if on cue, Greg's cell rang out and startled them both. Immediately, Greg was paralyzed by a wave of guilt at 1) holding Anne's hand and 2) not having done what he was basically told to do.

"It's him," he said as lightheartedly as he could. "He could hear you doubting his psychic powers and now he's checking up on us."

"Greg," she sighed. She released his hand and, before he could stop her, snatched his phone away. She checked the caller i.d. to make sure that it was her uncle before answering.

"Hey, Uncle Gil," she answered.

Greg watched, antsy to know what Grissom was saying.

"Yep. We're actually gonna take a quick break here." She paused and stuck her tongue out at Greg. " No, Absolute Business Services didn't interest me much at all." She paused briefly. "I've already told you that I want to work in commercial advertising. Magazine ad's and things like that." She smiled at Greg who was now sticking his tongue out at her.

"Are you sure because I can always call and make you an appointment at Acme Publishing," Grissom said into the receiver of the phone. He caught sight of Nick, Warrick, and Catherine coming down the hall towards him and motioned for them to join him in the break room.

"Hey Griss . . ." Nick began a greeting but was silenced when Grissom waved a hand at them to remain quiet. He listened to the person on the other end of the line and rolled his eyes heavily.

"Okay, but remember that I'm taking you to breakfast in the morning." He paused. "I love you too," he said, shocking the entire break room. "All right. Bye-bye."

He pressed the end button on his cell and looked up at the others in the room.

"What?" he asked, noting the quizzical way they were all staring at him, Warrick in open mouthed astonishment.

"My niece," he answered their unanswered question. "She's on a date with Greg."

"How did that happen?" Catherine asked, trying to keep the surprise from her voice.

"It's not supposed to be a date, but I know that's what it's turned into."

"You have a niece?" Nick back tracked.

"Yes, I have a niece," Grissom answered, a bit defensively for him.

"What was "it" supposed to be before "it" turned into a date?" Catherine asked.

"It was supposed to be a job club kind of thing but I know that's not what's going on."

"How can you know that?" Warrick asked, unsure if he was trying to defend Greg or some unknown relative of Grissom's. "You've been here the better part of twelve hours."

"She duct tapes her shoes," he answered simply, as thought that should be explanation enough.

Nick smiled, a small laugh escaping him. He looked at Warrick who looked to Catherine for an explanation.

"Greg tapes his shoes," she said. She turned to Grissom, still slightly puzzled. "So, because both Greg and your niece tape their shoes, they're on a date?"

"That's a pretty big leap," Warrick agreed.

"It's logical for me because I know my niece," Grissom explained. He waved his hand in dismissal. "On top of that, they're headed to ghostbar."

"At the palms?" Catherine asked, astounded at such a suggestion as Greg Sanders being seen at ghostbar.

"Yes. And I want someone to be there to make sure that nothing that shouldn't happen happens."

"I'll go," Nick and Warrick volunteered at once. Ghostbar was one of the damn coolest clubs in Vegas and neither ever had the chance to spend more than half an hour at a time in it.

"Catherine?" Gil began pleadingly. "Would you be so kind as to chaperone my niece at ghostbar?"

Catherine considered for a moment. She could either go home to an empty house (Lindsey was visiting her grandmother, much to Catherine's chagrin although she could do very little to help that) or she could spend an hour or so at one of the better night clubs Vegas had to offer.

"I'll do it," she answered, "but only because you look so worried."

"And I'll go with to make sure that no unseemly characters accost our dear Miss Willows," Nick said with all the chivalry he could muster.

"And I'll go with so that no one's unsatisfied spouse drools too long over Mr. Down In Texas and gets him into a fight," Warrick announced.

"Whatever," Grissom snapped good naturedly. "Just keep an eye on her, all right?"

"Whatever you say boss," Nick smiled.

"See," Anne said, handing Greg's phone back to him. "No worries."

"I guess," he said, a bit relieved that Grissom hadn't asked to talk to him at all. I just can't believe you lied to Gil Grissom. It's like . . . like you have powers that are beyond those of us mere mortals."

"Well, if he's psychic, what powers did you think I had?"

_Besides the power to make me forget that you're supposed to be off limits and yet entice me your Duran dancing_?

"I guess," he said skeptically and tried for a cab once more.

"Now, what's this ghostbar place like?"

"It's . . ." He stopped a moment to get a good mental image of ghostbar before trying to explain. "It's like floating," he said with a small smile.

"Can I call Dee and see if she wants to come?"

_No_, Greg almost said, _because I know how girls are when they go out to clubs_. _It's always, "We came together, we leave together" and I don't want to end up leaving without you_.

Now where the hell had that come from?

"Sure," he answered. "Tell her to bring a friend or something."

"I am her friend," she laughed. "But I get you." She smiled as she dialed her friend and Greg returned her smile, looking down to once again compare the duct tape with which they both repaired their shoes, hoping she didn't notice the slight blush creeping into his face at the fact that she, too, must be a little psychic to get what he'd meant.


	5. Chapter 5

Greg and Anne were seated at a table near the bar when Greg noticed Anne looking towards the door. He followed her gaze and saw that she was watching a red head approach their table on the arm of a tall, dark haired man who, in the right clothes, might make a convincing pirate.

"Dee," Anne said and waved at the woman who looked at her quizzically.

"What are you doin' over here?" Dee asked. "Scruffy here got us a good table."

"Stop calling me that," the man said, turning his head away.

"Then shave."

"Do you know how many times a day I'd have to shave to make you happy?" he snapped. "If you can do better, be my guest."

"If you want to let me get near your face with a razor blade, I'll do it."

The man opened his mouth as if to speak and quickly closed it again. There was a moment of silence.

"That's what I thought," Dee said.

Greg looked helplessly at a smiling Anne, who merely shrugged and whispered, "Yeah, they do that."

"So come on," the man said. "It's by the patio."

"Come on," Dee said and followed the man, who as yet had no name, to the table by the large bay windows over looking the city.

"Come on," Anne said and stood to follow her friend.

Greg stood and stared at his empty chair.

"Come on," he said to it and followed Anne to the table that Dee and the man led them to, amazed that anyone could get a table this good with out being V.I.P. But, for all Greg knew, the man was V.I.P.

"This is Tim, by the way," Dee flung over her shoulder to Greg.

Tim merely waved his hand at Greg, without looking at him.

Once they were seated, a waitress came to the table and flashed them an award winning smile.

"Before we order," Tim, "who's driving?"

"We could get a cab," Anne suggested.

"I'm not leaving baby alone in this neighborhood," Tim whined.

"If we'd have taken a cab in the first place like I suggested," Dee muttered.

"Look," Tim began, "I've had enough of your lip for tonight."

"Well, how about we nose game driver!" Anne shouted, touching the tip of her nose with her finger.

Before the word nose was half out of her mouth, Dee's hand shot to her face, touching her own nose. Tim followed suit, leaving Greg the only person at the table not touching his face.

"You can drive stick, right?" Tim asked him.

"What just happened here?" Greg asked in response.

"You just lost nose game," Dee responded and told the waitress she'd have a Long Island Iced Tea.

"Captain and Coke," Anne ordered.

"Tequila and a Tecate," Tim ordered.

"And for you?" the waitress turned her smile to Greg.

"None for him," Tim answered. "He's driving."

Greg shrugged helplessly at the waitress and asked for a Coke.

"Sure thing, hun," she said and walked off.

"For future reference," Dee began, "When you hear the word nose and any of us are around," she motioned around the table, "it might be a good idea to touch your nose. As a precaution."

"It's something you learn pretty quick," Tim said.

"Greg!" someone shouted from the front of the club.

Greg looked towards the voice and was surprised to see the feisty red head that was Catherine Willows walking in his direction.

_Oh God, no_! his mind screamed. _Spies_!

"Who's your girlfriend?" Anne laughed at the look on his face.

"She brought friends," Dee said and Greg saw Nick and Warrick following close behind.

_Well, there goes the neighborhood_.

Greg knew that he wasn't a bad looking guy: he was fairly tall, blonde, and his body wasn't too shabby in his opinion. But he also knew that he in no way compared to the Greek God physic of Nick Stokes or the strong, muscular form of Warrick Brown. He knew he paled in comparison, not in his eyes of course, but in those any woman within three feet of his two co-workers.

"Catherine," Greg forced a smile. "I didn't know you had the night off."

"I figured a night on the town couldn't do any harm," Catherine smiled. She took a seat, uninvited by any of them Greg noted, at the table.

"And you brought company," he said, trying to keep his voice light.

"Well, what would it look like if a lovely lady hit the town alone on a Friday night?" Nick asked as he too pulled up a chair.

"Man, I just felt like going out," Warrick laughed and took one of two remaining chairs.

"Tim Speedle," Tim said and opened his arms to the group. "Welcome to my table."

"Catherine Willows," Catherine introduced herself. "Nick Stokes, Warrick Brown," she motioned to Nick and Warrick respectively.

"This is Dee," Anne said and pointed out right to her friend.

Catherine didn't miss the way Greg's face lit up as the young woman smiled.

"I'm Anne," she pointed to herself and grinned. "And you're from the lab."

"Yes we are," Warrick said, flashing a rarely seen smile.

"Uncle Gil sent you to baby sit," Anne said, hitting the nail on the head it seemed to Greg.

Catherine didn't know what she'd expected Grissom's niece to be like, but the girl had Grissom's smug, self assuredness pinned.

"In a manner of speaking."

"The manner in which I'm right," Anne laughed.

Greg laughed with her and Nick gave him an odd look.

"Well, there go any questions about whether they're really related or not," Nick said and smiled at Anne and her friends.

"What'll ya have?" the waitress interrupted as she placed drinks before her first customers.

"Who's driving?" Nick asked.

"Greg," Anne, Dee, and Tim answered in unison, causing the four of them to burst into laughter.

"I see," Warrick said. "You guys must have started early to be letting Greg drive," he joked. "We're getting a cab."

Dee waved her hand to Tim, indicating that he should've listened to her in the first place.

They each ordered a beer and listened to the music.

"So, your mother is Grissom's sister," Nick was saying to Anne. Just as Greg had known she would be, Anne seemed to be hanging on his every word.

"Yeah," she answered. "She's almost ten years younger."

"That's quite a difference," Catherine said.

"Yeah, well, different dad's," Anne replied. She seemed somewhat annoyed to Greg.

"Oh," Catherine said. "You were born in Vegas?"

"I was born in Michigan. Detroit." She sipped her rum and Coke. "My mom was an art major at U of M."

"Pricey," Nick said.

"Am I being interrogated?"

"No," Warrick said, casting a somewhat embarrassed look towards his colleagues. "It's just . . . Grissom is a mystery to all of us. We're just trying to . . ."

"We're just being nosey," Nick admitted.

"In our defense," Catherine said, "we're investigators, kiddo."

"Don't call me kiddo," Anne laughed. "We've just met. And all you guys have to do is ask out right. What do you want to know?"

Catherine looked from Nick to Warrick to Anne.

"Does he sleep?" she asked.

"Do the lights _ever_ go out in Vegas?"

"You owe me ten bucks, my friend," Nick laughed to Warrick.

Greg sat back and unconsciously gauged her reaction to the mini interrogation, though he was mostly gauging her reaction to Nick and Warrick. Upon realizing what he was doing, he scolded himself inwardly for being such a wuss.

"Hey!" Anne said suddenly, grabbing Greg's upper arm and startling him from his thoughts. Clearly, she was excited. "Listen."

He turned his head to watch her nod to the beat.

"Hot Hot Heat," Greg said, just as excited.

Without another word exchanged, the two expressively launched into the chorus, both bobbing their heads and swaying in their chairs. As they sang, much too loudly Greg knew, Anne stood and held her hand out to him. After a split second of hesitation he took her hand and together, they made their way to the crowded dance floor.

Catherine allowed herself a small smile at the couple on the floor. She laughed at the expression on Greg's face as Anne took his hands in hers as they moved across the floor.

Their little lab rat looked smitten.


	6. Chapter 6

"Cheap Trick!" Anne and Dee squealed together as the infamous "I Want You (To Want Me) blared throughout the club.

"I want you to want me," the two sang.

Catherine smiled as Anne tapped her arm and motioned for her to sing along.

"I need you to need me," the three belted out.

"I'd love you to love me," Tim joined in.

"I'm begging you to beg me," Greg finished.

The five of them continued to sing as Anne took Greg's arm once more and led him to the dance floor. This time, however, Greg took Dee's arm and she took Tim's who reluctantly made his way to the floor with the three of them.

"C'mon," Greg said to Catherine. She laughed and joined them on the floor. She shrugged at Nick and Warrick and waved at them to come out onto the floor, which they did.

" . . . to sa-ay that you want me," the group was singing.

Greg was having a great time dancing in the midst of his new found friends, though he wasn't entirely sure that what Tim was doing constituted dancing, until Nick moved too close to Anne.

She seemed to be having fun nonetheless. Greg watched with a little jealousy as Nick boldly reached his hands out and placed them on her hips as she moved. With no little satisfaction, he couldn't help but smile when she reached her hands down to his and removed them. She gave him a somewhat confused smile, as though she didn't realize that the way she moved had an effect on them, and moved a little closer to Greg.

With smug satisfaction, he reached out a hand and took one of her hands in his, twirling her about slowly to the music.

Nick shrugged and smiled, a defeated smile, Greg hoped, as he continued to dance with Catherine and Warrick.

"What are you doing?" Greg heard Dee ask Tim.

"You're the one that wanted me to dance," Tim answered.

Dee merely shrugged and turned to dance with Anne and Greg.

"Weak," Anne said. "I'll dance with you, Timmy," she said and turned to dance with Tim, leaving Greg to dance with Dee.

"What are you doing?" he heard Anne ask Tim almost immediately.

"Dancing," Tim said and laughed when she turned her back on him.

"I don't think you are," she said and moved closer to Greg once more.

In a bold move, Greg placed his hands on her hips in much the same way Nick had tried but, to his satisfaction, didn't push his hands away. Instead, she looked into his eyes and smiled.

"Fresh," she said and continued to move to the music.

Cheap Trick led to The Cars led The Strokes led to Las Vegas Natives The Killers. And Anne and Greg danced to them all. The Killers brought with them Franz Ferdinand's "Michael" followed by Star Sailors' "One More Time." The two danced to everything that came on for the next half hour without stop.

"Oh my God!" she said excitedly. "Greg, it's our song!"

He placed the bass line and a wide smile spread across his face.

"Careless Memories," he said. "How'd he know?" He pointed to the d.j.

"Who cares," she said, closing her eyes.

Greg tilted his face up to the ceiling and said a silent prayer of thanks for this small miracle. "Dance with me?" he asked as though she weren't already.

"Of course," she said and took both his hands in hers, dancing much the same way she had in the listening booth at Big B's.

Catherine shot Greg a look of warning from the table, hoping to help him remember who the girl he was dancing with was related to and what that relation might do to him if he were anything less than a perfect gentleman.

Greg nodded to her and shrugged his shoulders. He couldn't control his animal magnetism. He laughed at his own joke.

"You're adorable," Anne said at his smile.

He laughed.

"You're drunk."

"I've only had one drink," she said and twirled in his arms. "It's gonna take a lot more than that to get me drunk."

He laughed with her as she continued to twirl in his arms. He caught her, held her still for a split second, and dipped her. She laughed in his arms and kissed his cheek when he brought her back up.

"How'd the lab end up with such a fun guy?" she asked.

"Ha," he said. "Fun guy."

She stared blankly at him for a moment and then got his joke.

"See, that's what I'm talking about," she said laughing. "You don't seem like you'd fit in with . . . nerds."

"Ouch," he said, and placed his hand over his heart, flinching as though she'd struck him.

"Mm-hmm, that's exactly what I meant," she continued. "Nerds. I mean, I guess you'd have to be a nerd to some degree. You're the DNA tech, right?"

He nodded in agreement, following her as she started walking back to their table.

"So you must have nerd in you. It's just not one of your prominent features."

Greg let out a small laugh at this.

"And you're cute," she said.

He gave another small laugh. He knew he wasn't a bad looking guy, true, but it was nice to hear it every once in a while from a girl he thought was pretty enough to . . . but he'd been warned against that line of thought.

"We should get going," Tim said, interrupting Greg's musings. "I've got work in the morning."

"You should've thought about that before you decided to come out," Dee said.

After a brief pause, both she and Anne giggled and Greg thought he knew why.

"Ha," Anne said. "Come out." And the two of them burst into fresh peals of laughter, Greg now assured that he was right in his assumption.

Anne placed her hand on his arm as she laughed and Greg felt himself smile a bit, although he knew that his smile had little to do with the words "come out."

As the four stood to leave, Greg saw that both Catherine and Warrick were giving him looks of warning. Clearly, they were mind readers. Nick's look, on the other hand, Greg wouldn't interpret as anything less than utter jealousy that Anne was leaving with Greg and not Nick.

He waved his goodbyes to his friends and coworkers and followed the smaller group to the parking lot outside.

The rain had let up a bit and was now just a scent on the air. Droplets of water formed nearly perfect, uniform lines on the windshield of Tim's Mustang. He tossed his keys at Greg who, not being prepared, let them hit his chest and fall to the ground.

"I'd be careful with those," Dee slurred. "He treats his car better than me."

"That is a boldfaced lie," Tim said and pulled her to him for a kiss. "I treat you slightly better."

The two laughed raucously and Greg gave a soft laugh to himself as he stooped to retrieve the keys from the ground. Anne saved him the trouble of looking for too long an jingled them gently in front of his face.

"Thanks," he said.

She merely smiled and went to the passenger side of the car.

Greg made no move to open the driver's side door for a moment. He didn't think that smile was like any of the other smiles she'd flashed him that day. It was a slow, deliberate smile that made his stomach flutter just a bit.

He shook his head to clear it. Now he was just making stuff up.

"Any time tonight, kiddo," Tim said from behind him.

"Yeah, sorry," Greg muttered and unlocked the door. He climbed in and unlocked the passenger door then got back out to allow Tim to pull the seat forward so that he could climb into what looked to be the most uncomfortably small backseat on Earth.

"And don't screw around with my radio," Tim added as he fumbled with his seatbelt. "I finally fixed it from the last time _she_ did it." He was speaking to Greg, but looking pointedly at Dee.

She merely scoffed and rested her head on his shoulder, seatbelt still unfastened.

"Buckle up for safety's sake," Anne said to her friend.

Greg smiled at her concern for her friend and started the car.

"We'll go ahead and drop you off first," Anne said to Greg. "And I'll take them back to Dee's place."

Greg nodded.

"I don't think so," Tim snapped. "I like the idea of letting a complete stranger drive my baby than letting you."

"F-you, Timmy," she said good naturedly.

"No," he said quickly. "The first, last, and only time I let you drive my baby, you flooded the engine."

Anne rolled her eyes.

"One time," she defended herself weakly.

"I don't know why you thought she could drive a stick to begin with," Dee said. "I told you she couldn't."

"_I_ told him I couldn't," Anne added.

Greg listened to the easy back and forth between the three of them and was feeling a bit left out when Anne rested her arm across his shoulders as he drove the four of them back to Dee's apartment at Tim's insistence. It didn't matter much to Greg who got dropped off first. He could always take a cab back to his place.

He swung the Mustang around the corner of Dee's block none too soon by the look of things in the rearview mirror. The two were going at it pretty hot and heavy for having two other people in the car.

"So, we're here," Anne said, following Greg's slightly embarrassed gaze to the two in the back. "Time to get out, get upstairs . . . get a room," she added with a smirk.

She smiled apologetically to Greg and they got out of the car. Anne took Tim's car keys from Greg and flung them into the backseat. She closed her door carefully behind her and smiled once more to Greg.

"How far do you live from here?" she asked.

"A ways," he replied. "I'm gonna get a cab."

"Or," she said slowly, coming around to the driver's side of the car, "we can walk for a ways and then get a cab."

"You want to walk me home?" he asked. Stupid, he scolded himself. Here he was: beautiful woman wanting to spend as much of the remainder of the evening with him as possible and he was questioning it.

"Sure," she said. "Can't a lady offer to walk her escort home?"

"Sure, ladies can," they heard Dee joke from the interior of the car.

Anne tapped on the window and flipped her friend the bird.

"Let's go then," Greg said with a small laugh.


	7. Chapter 7

They ended up walking the entire way to Greg's apartment. The rain ended up making a few brief appearances on the way and, instead of hiding under the awnings to wait for a break in the uncharacteristic storm clouds (much to Greg's delight), they merely continued on. As the pair walked through the rain, they spoke about nearly everything under the sun. Greg knew that he was rambling because he was nervous. They were alone again, after all; there were no other people around to pick up the slack when a lapse in conversation appeared.

Although, Anne didn't seem to mind the brief silences. She allowed them to stretch on until Greg decided that he hadn't said nearly enough.

"This is it," Greg said and stopped in front of his building.

"Wow," she said appreciatively, looking up at the building. "This is a great building."

Greg let out a small laugh. "I like to think so. It's not a condo or anything but it does the job."

"I'll bet."

"You wanna . . . come up?" he asked. "For a cup of coffee or something."

He didn't know why a cup of coffee should make her laugh the way it did, but he welcomed the sound and she nodded.

"Sure," she said and followed as he led the way.

They were silent in the elevator on the way up to Greg's floor. He was still wondering why coffee would be so funny and if she would tell him if he asked. He bet that she would.

"All the way at the end of the hall is me," he said once the elevator doors opened revealing a well it hall way.

He was trying to remember whether or not he'd cleared his laundry from the living room floor and praying that he had. It was really something he should have thought about before inviting her up.

He reached into his pocket for his keys as they stopped before the front door that was his. He began sifting through them to find the dead bolt key when he felt a hand that was most definitely not his on his hip. He froze and almost dropped his keys.

"Greg," she said in a small voice.

"Uh-huh?" he asked, damning his voice for cracking.

"Can I kiss you?"

He choked on his response, which he'll swear all his life was going to be "No, we shouldn't," as she pressed her lips against his.

As she gently sought entrance to his mouth with her tongue, the reason they shouldn't be kissing left him. She pressed her entire body against him and he could feel that she was soft and warm. She wrapped her arms around his shoulders to pull him closer and he readily complied. Her fingers were toying with the hair at the nape of his neck, tugging gently now and then.

He only pulled away to take a breath, completely satisfied to make out with her in the hall and the neighbors be damned, when she uttered those magic words.

"Let's go inside, okay?"

Greg could only nod.

He brought his keys up to the doorknob once more, his hands shaking a bit from the rush she'd just given him. He couldn't seem to remember which key belonged in the deadbolt. She just smiled at him, that same smile she'd given him when they had gotten into Tim's car, and watched him try to make the same key fit into the lock three times.

When the door was finally open, something inside of him snapped and he could only think of getting his hands on Anne's plump little body.

He half pulled her inside and pressed her back up against the door, closing it in the same motion. He took the lead and pressed his lips against hers this time, taking the time to savor the taste of her mouth. She tugged his jacket down off his shoulders and let it fall in a heap at the floor. Her hands then flew the zipper of her own coat, tossing to the ground in kind.

As she removed them of their coats, Greg suddenly felt the need to be without shoes and kicked them off and to the side. She followed his lead, their mouths never parting, and kicked her shoes off while she tried to manage the buttons on Greg's shirt.

"Why can't you just wear t-shirts?" she gasped as their lips finally parted once more to allow them to breath.

"Are you wearing a bra?" he asked, voice ragged from the kiss.

She nodded and smiled as two buttons came free in one motion.

"That's why," he answered and shrugged out of his shirt.

Her hands on his bare chest set him on fire and he pulled her to him once more, on hand in her hair, the other tugging the hem of her sweater. He pulled it over her head in one swift motion and she allowed him a moment to admire the swell of her breasts above her bra, her hips above the line of her jeans. He smiled into her eyes and reached out to place his hands on her hips.

She placed her hands on his and looked up into his eyes. He slipped his fingertips between her soft skin and the rough denim of her jeans, brushing briefly against the soft cotton of her panties. Her hands followed his to the button of her jeans, her fingers following his as he undid them.

She watched his face as he slipped her jeans to the floor. He took a step back and admired her body before him. She was so beautiful to him. He wanted to tell her, let her know that he more than appreciated the body before him, but for once words escaped him.

Greg slowly let out a breath that he didn't realize he'd been holding, hungrily devouring her body with his eyes, his hands caressing her exposed skin.

"You too," she said softly, a hitch in her breathing. She reached for his belt buckle and his hands now followed hers. When she had the belt out of her way, she unzipped his fly and tugged his jeans to his hips. Greg looked into her eyes when she hesitated and pulled his jeans the rest of the way down so that he was standing in nothing but his briefs.

Suddenly, he didn't want her bad enough to take her against the back of his front door. Well, he did, but it didn't seem right. He wanted this to be right, for the both of them.

"C'mon," he said. He took her hand in his and led her through the apartment back to his bedroom, hoping silently that he'd remembered to make his bed.

He opened the door and gently guided her inside. He took her to his bed, which wasn't in too bad a shape, and sat her down. She pulled him quickly to her for another searing kiss. He had to brace himself with one arm behind her, hand resting on the bed, to keep from crushing her. He used his other hand to caress her back, his fingers brushing over the clasp of her bra.

He began to kiss her everywhere his lips could reach as he freed her breasts from the hateful garment. Her bare breasts pressed against the bare skin of his chest sent a shiver through them both. He lay her back on the back on the bed and smiled with hooded eyes when she tickled his sides gently, her hands resting dangerously near the waistband of his briefs.

He reached out with the hand he wasn't using to brace himself and held her to him as she rid him of his underwear, leaving him completely naked and half on top of her. He reached his own hands out to relieve her of her the last of her undergarments. She lifted her hips slightly so that he could pull them all the way down.

Greg sat back on the bed to admire the nude woman before him. Her breasts were firm and round, her nipples standing out proudly. Her skin was soft and smooth, warm beneath his hands.

"You're beautiful," she whispered. Apparently, she had been admiring him as much as he had her. "Do you have a condom?"

He really hoped so. He really did.

Greg reached over to the nightstand and opened the first drawer. Score one for the Trojan Man!

He held the condom out to show her and was a bit surprised when she snatched it from his hand. She tore it open and held her hand out to him, motioning for him to sit between her legs. He was on his knees before her and let out a pleasured gasp when he felt her hand wrap around his shaft. She pressed the tip of the condom against the tip of his head and rolled the length of it down over him.

He pulled her to him for another kiss and placed his hands on her hips. He helped her scoot forward.

"Okay," she whispered, looking into his eyes.

Her mouth was half open, her tongue pressed against her teeth.

Greg pressed himself against her willing form and she thrust her hips up to meet him. It was now her turn to let out a long slow breath with just a hint of an underlying moan. He couldn't believe how good this felt as he began to thrust his hips back and forth at a leisurely pace, wanting to prolong the experience.

He wasn't sure when he began to grunt and moan like he was (much like his first time, if he recalled) but he certainly knew they were loud; and he knew he couldn't much help it. He was beginning to pound into her, trying to hold back and not succeeding very well. He would have stopped if she had asked him too.

But she didn't ask him to stop, slow down, or even demand more, harder, and faster. She kept a steady breathing rhythm and her eyes remained half closed and focused on his. His desire to watch her watch him outweighed his natural desire to close his eyes as he came.

He was suddenly embarrassed that he couldn't hold out for a bit longer; she looked so close to her own climax. And he was confused by his embarrassment; he'd never been embarrassed being the one to come first. It was bound to happen more often than not anyway.

"I . . . uh . . ." he breathed, unsure of what to say.

Thankfully, Anne was at no such loss for words.

"Kiss me," she whispered, her voice heavy with passion.

Greg had no problem kissing her again. He parted her lips gently with his tongue and was pleasantly surprised when she gave his tongue a gentle suck. His sharp intake of breath was rewarded with a small, throaty giggle from the woman beneath him. He sat back on his heels, pulling out of her, and carefully stripped himself of the condom. He tied it off and tossed it into the trash can by the nightstand.

She wrapped her arms around him and pulled him to lie beside her on his bed. She rolled onto her side and threw an arm and a leg over him, nuzzling his shoulder.

It was Greg's turn to giggle.

"Comfy?" he asked.

She nodded and rested her head against his shoulder.

"Mmm-hmm," she replied, snuggling closer.

"Me too," he sighed contentedly. "Me too."


End file.
